Independence Day

The mechanic walked into the station and drove out the DPO’s car. But nobody actually knew the man and was thought to be the man servicing the DPO’s car. With the car serviced, it would be great spending weekend watching Independence Day with peace of mind and didn’t have to worry having problem starting the car on Monday. But Monday was a public holiday. If prison authorities would consider the day, then it would be cheerful and rest and laughter for inmates across the prison yards. 

Until in the evening police at the gate realized they were in big trouble because the DPO was furious and accompanied his order with ‘Things will sort out themselves in the course of investigation’ in reference to instruction of random arrest he had issued after his car was stolen. 

Though concerned on the outside, but not with the thought of how to buy a new vehicle. To bail themselves out, the DPO put 20k on the head of each detainee, and when those who could afford the bail paid and walked out, he slashed the money down, first to fifteen thousand, then ten thousand on and on… the rest was a new car.

Wasa nearly became a police man, but didn’t join the service, complaining corruption and bad arrangement and all that when in reality his decision was borne out of something else. Whatever direction his father took, Wasa would take the opposite. 

In the first months in service, no salary, no allowance, no nothing. And at the end of the day the man at the office is waiting you to bring something to his table. Wasa pretended to watch disgustingly at anything dishonest, but when he talked I listened to him with my own reservations. If a lady used high heel, put talcum powder on her face and plant a cup at the back her head to appear as if she had long hair, then it’s karraption. “You must have to know that my sister you are taking undue advantage over others. You just have to know that change must begin with you.” 

Perhaps he had forgotten or was deliberating erasing some fact. Naturally, a man like Wasa shouldn’t be in position to hold such view. Once a challenge was thrown at him to swear by God about his piety and whether he truly believed he could marry virgin girl. Knowing what he had in the closet, he pronounced “Half virgin is better than completely unvirgin.” He stole his mother’s jewelry and sold it at Bakin Asibiti and burnt the money on girls and drugs. In the morning, he came out wobbling and speaking in very slow pace. It was highly unwise to buy anything you can get free. “If you need shoes, go to mosque.” 

I reminded Wasa that thousands others no better than him were in in the service. I was once shocked to see a police man doing aswaki.  I thought that was the business for good Muslims only. So, I was only encouraging Wasa to get into the service for our own advantage someday. 

A year or two ago, after the crisis began and the attack was intense, a police caught me at the Orthopedic Hospital junction Gwammaja, after the government banned passengers on motorcycle. I didn’t have money, at my behest, a younger friend in my neighborhood drove me there. He feared police might catch us but I reassured. And now it happened, none of us had money and the officer was determined. An idea struck me, I whipped out my ID and prayed for esprit de corps since I was also a government worker. Generally, police were like that. This was the idea I was pushing into Wasa’s head. 

The officer kept thrashing out his pocket at my side, gloating over his accomplishment going home each day with no less than 4k. In the police arrangement, once a uniform was dished out to you, it was considered a seed capital to generate more profit and grow your business. “I am not stupid,” the officer said, insisting I must feel his pocket to which I refused and only said. “I believe you officer, you cannot tell lie.” Form his sudden glance at me he was probably thinking I was throwing jibe at him. Knowing where Nigerian police get their money from wasn’t an Aleppo moment.

Somewhere I felt like I read the story of my life with happy ending where one could die without knowing he died. Because people disbelieved me if I told them my result and made me feel ashamed, I learnt to smile and say, “I am first-class.” 

If we were doing one thing in class, I would be doing another. I hated reading my books and loved reading novels instead. Friends were shocked by my total indifference to grade. I was not alone.

“Useless degree” a friend once said, “any degree that couldn’t fetch you job at NNPC, CBN or FIRS is useless. You should prepare for the real life in the real world. ” His words sank into my head and since then I began preparing for the real battle.

Like every Nigerian child, back in primary school days I had a dream of becoming a medical doctor. But science killed spirit here, no nothing at all. I went to the library and read books in Media and Communication as I planned to be doing contract business with all the top guys in the economy. And if the next election came, I would want to be a campaign manager for a presidential candidate. But I think I was stupid, I deleted an email thinking it was old and later looked for it to read and found it was gone.

While famine pervaded commoners’ streets, hunger for meat in Abuja quarters, At Bakin Kofa gurasa has increased in value, not as a result of recession. We could only give some token amount for it out of respect like we did for religious books. These days we have been worshipping gurasa, going to pilgrimage to Kwanar Ungwaggwo if our random wandering took us there (God forbid I shall write Ungogo, Goron Dutse, Sokoto), and because now we were no longer in college, we travelled infrequently to Civic Centre where, near the place, someone with looted funds from the nation’s coffer was setting up health tech institute.

Applanders, children of apps, while in mosque would still be on their phone. I remembered reading a tweet from Wasa reading “last tweet before Sallah kicks off,” apparently in congregation in a mosque.

Wasa was constantly in loggerheads with his old ones. He found it hard to understand his parents. Naturally, it didn’t sound good to start eating Tuwo just two days after Sallah. “Why our parents are doing like this? Our worldviews are fundamentally different but they are never aware of that.  That’s why I am leaving the house.”

If it’s for that, you could side with Wasa. He didn’t like it his father waking him up at dawn or banging and shouting at the bathroom door. Wasa could go to toilet with his phone, logged online and forgot existence in the outside world. “Some people are full human beings but possess half human brain,” Wasa said if someone knocked at the door.

Wasa heavily ate meat during Sallah, went to the toilet in pain and failed to deliver the pregnancy he was carrying. He realized he was simply in labour and began to sympathize with women. “You can get the idea how women feel when you go to the toilet and the thing refuses to come.”  He had a strange way of saying things. “I am going to do a small death,” he said when he meant he was going to bed. Or things like “I don’t share bad news, but eight died in auto-crash.” It was from him I first heard strange things like “Donald Trump wishes all Muslims happy Eidl Mubarak.”

In primary school, it had been great mystery for us to fathom how Ali was able to get through the week with tidy and clean clothes. It was beyond our little brain to understand that he had to wash them two or three times a week. We remained in touch even after primary school and college, after life had thrown us in different ways.

He regularly called to vent spleen about very grave issue, which in the end would turn out very trivial. I didn’t understand why he should bother himself on small things like grammar that happened everywhere.  “Did you read the paper? Who wrote that advert FIRS did in their job opening? He must have to go back to classroom. In all the vacancies at federal level, no one job place for those of us in language. Unpardonable, they massacred a simple grammar.”

He called last time angrily to complain about what he called national shame when Information Minister was addressing near empty hall at National Assembly.

It was middle of the month and I was not interested in such things and preferred to talk about the money I had been expecting from him. As soon as I broached the issue, he reeled out excuses about recession. Glad to know that the suffering wasn’t from heaven. Satisfied with their fate, some folks had no idea and thought their suffering was God.